


Lay Down Your Arms

by snewvilliurs



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snewvilliurs/pseuds/snewvilliurs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mid-game; during a brief respite at the Phon Coast, Ashe sees the scars on Basch's back for the first time.  Mostly Basch-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Down Your Arms

When twilight set in across the horizon of the Phon Coast, Balthier declared a time for rest, insisting that they should take advantage of the gleaming waters and not stray too far from the hunter’s camp before nightfall. The arguments, however, were more or less unneeded; only Ashe seemed displeased by the idea, wanting to forge on, and the others needed little convincing. Fran said nothing—ever faithful partners, the words of one were often the thoughts of the other, and rarely did she and Balthier oppose each other; Vaan and Penelo were excited for a little swim and a night of rest; and when Ashe looked to Basch for support, he simply gave a small shrug. The day had been long and hot, and they still had a ways before they reached Archades—a bath couldn’t hurt.

Vaan and Penelo were the first into the water, wading in while splashing each other, laughs rising until their heads were underwater and they pretended to tug at each other like sharks. Balthier swam away from the shore, near cliff sides where Fran sat on a rock; far enough so that they could speak to each other in hushed tones and not be heard. Still on the beach, Basch hesitated for a moment as he observed Ashe, standing a short distance from him with her arms crossed. She seemed lost in thought; most likely mulling over what Balthier had told her.

Basch had felt an odd sense of urgency when he saw the two of them stop to talk, out of the corner of his eye—a sense to stay at her side, protect her as he had King Raminas’ little girl from those he could not trust. But she, as Ondore had said, was a woman grown now, and Basch trusted Balthier; rather, it was his unpredictability that put him ill at ease. Fran had shut away his doubts with a single look, stopping him from stepping forward as well as reassuring him, as if she knew already the words Balthier was going to confess in Ashe.

But then, she probably did. 

And so Basch had stood, away from them, watching Vaan and Penelo play around with a small smile, just as children would. Reks would have been proud to see his brother soldier on through the hardships without him (and with a smile), he thought with some bitterness, his mind straying to an even harsher place. Vaan and Penelo’s friendship, their constant playful bickering—it reminded him of his childhood with Noah.

Now, looking at Ashe as the sun started to set, he could only imagine how her thoughts could stray into what she preferred not to dwell on as his did, and the thought saddened him. Though he wanted to reassure her in any way he could, he knew it was not his place to, not now; these thoughts, she needed to be alone with.

He stepped forward to the edge of the water as she stayed behind, undoing the clasps of the leather straps on his vest to let it fall to the sand, working at the armoured plates he wore over his clothes. They were lighter than a suit of armour, as they should, but still it felt relieving for their weight to be discarded, and he stretched his arms out towards his back until he felt it pop. Next, he peeled off the fabric he used as an undershirt, having some difficulty as it clung to his sweaty skin, but eventually he could crouch down, lifting some of the agreeably chilly water to the nape of his neck. 

“Basch,” Ashe said from behind him, tone softer than he expected—there was an edge to it that he didn’t understand until he looked over his shoulder to her and saw her eyes fixed upon his back. It was then that he realized she had never seen the scars across his skin; the shoulder he kept bare had healed without leaving marks, but what he kept covered by clothing was not quite the same.

Turning his eyes back to the sea as she stood next to him, he cleared his throat, unsure of what to tell her.

“You didn’t have these before—” she paused, the words seemingly caught in her throat, but managed to get them out. “—my father died, did you?”

Her choice of words was interesting, he mused for a moment; it seemed she did not dare ask, directly, whether the scars were a memory of battle, or the time he spent imprisoned. Seeing as he had never spoken much of the last two years, it was a very tactful thing to do—as expected from a woman of her stature—but it only seemed to make the atmosphere between them more tense, especially when he finally answered.

“No, I did not.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashe whispered.

Basch shook his head. “Surely you, too, have battle wounds of your own. I remember a little girl who took one of her brother’s swords in secret when she was not yet allowed to wield them and cut a gash as large as this into her thigh,” he said with a strangely humorous air, pointing to the scar on his face.

“Still, these are not battle wounds—much less the scar I got from accidentally slashing my thigh open.”

“Do not worry for me, Your Majesty, though I appreciate your concern. My wounds have healed, as I have with them.”

“It only seems right to you if you worry for me and not the opposite, I suppose?”

He allowed himself to give her a small smile as he nodded. “Aye.”

Gently, she laid a hand on his shoulder with the affection he had not felt since the death of her father, her thumb resting across one of his scars. Her touch was gentle and warm, and he placed his hand atop hers for a brief moment, thankful for her forgiveness.


End file.
